


disconnect

by Dain



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ableism, Angst, Autistic Character, Autistic Dogma, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Kamino, Loneliness, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25008925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dain/pseuds/Dain
Summary: He just had to do his duty and wait for the Kaminoans to decide what to do with him. Nothing more.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 44





	disconnect

**Author's Note:**

> Kamino is not a good place to be for neurodivergent clones; expect explicit-mentions-to-vague-implications of ableism, eugenics, dehumanization, abuse, etc.

The easy rhythm of mealtime was a relief at the end of the day, a pattern that Dogma knew by heart and could follow in his sleep. He could drift away, beyond the noise and confusion of the mess hall, and let his body go through the movements for him as he collected a tray and followed his squad to their assigned seating. Eating had a rhythm to it, too; first this portion, then that, everything with its own way to be eaten, cut into squares or carefully portioned out into even spoonfuls.

The rest of the squad was talking amongst themselves over the meal, but Dogma was only half-listening to them, most of his focus devoted to mentally assessing their last simulation of the day. It had gone well; their trainer had thought so. They’d performed well as a squad, and Dogma had performed well as an individual.

He usually did. He had to.

Something nudged him in the ribs, jostling him back into the present, and when he looked up he found 3874 grinning at him. Dogma looked away, but they were all looking at him now for some reason, and - “I would’ve been out of the session in the first five minutes today if you hadn’t shown up,” 3874 said, and nudged him again.

Dogma forced an uncertain smile, aimed at no one in particular. “I…remember,” he said. 3874 had gotten trapped while taking cover, and Dogma had been able to circle around and take the droids by surprise, picking them off before any of them managed to hit 3874. 

The squad was still waiting for something, but he didn’t know what. He tried to find something else to look at, uneasy under the weight of their attention, and found that the only safe option was his tray. He stabbed the next piece of food with his fork and popped it in his mouth, hoping that would signal to them that he had nothing more to say.

There was a stretch of silence at the table. Dogma pointedly did not look up, not wanting to know if they were still looking at him or if they were looking at each other now. Their derision was easy enough to imagine without evidence. Finally, though, conversation picked back up and they moved on. He felt raw and vulnerable, like his skin had been stripped away and all of his innards were now exposed.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to them. He wanted to feel like he was actually part of the squad, wanted to be a part of the easy camaraderie they all shared, wanted to always know what to say and how to say it just like they did. But nothing ever changed, no matter how much he _wanted_ and _tried_ and _ached_ , so eventually he’d stopped putting in the effort. He engaged with them when he was invited to and that was all; even that generally ended in nothing but a thick coil of shame in his gut for his trouble.

He sometimes entertained the notion that he’d missed a session of flash-training that had taught all the rest of his brothers how to talk to each other. He knew it was a ridiculous thought, but at some point the rest of them had reached some sort of mutual understanding that Dogma was excluded from, and he didn’t understand how that could have happened. That wasn’t how this was supposed to work, but he didn’t know how to fix it.

(The Kaminoans had tried. He’d been reconditioned once already, and it hadn’t helped. He wasn’t sure he was fixable.)

Dogma clung to the fact that he did well in flash-training and in simulations. He was good at being a soldier, and that was important. He worked well with his squad in simulated battle. He may not meet expectations when it came to social behavior, but he didn’t need to be able to make small talk in order to serve the Republic; he only needed to be able to do his duty.

Laughter broke out around the table and he glanced up instinctively before he caught himself. They looked happy. Content. They didn’t need him; they were already part of a group, the way they were supposed to be. He returned his attention to his tray and forced himself to finish his last few bites of food; he’d lost his appetite, but he still needed to meet his nutritional requirements for the day. There was no sense in letting food go to waste, just as there was no sense worrying about his future. He wanted to serve, he wanted to prove he wasn’t a waste of resources, but ultimately the decision would be made based on what was best for the Republic rather than what he wanted, and that was how it should be.

He just had to do his duty and wait for the Kaminoans to decide what to do with him. Nothing more.

The chime that signified the end of the meal period chimed and Dogma swallowed his last bite with some difficulty. He stood up with the rest of his squad, dutifully shuffling into place at the back of the line as they moved to return their trays. Even the return to routine wasn’t enough to relax him.

It was fine. He was fine. He was defective, but all he could do was work hard. The rest was out of his hands and not worth worrying about. He just had to do his duty. That was the most important thing. That was what mattered.

That was all that mattered.

Dogma followed his squad out of the mess, shoulders back, spine straight, surrounded by brothers and as alone as he could possibly be.


End file.
